


Love, And Its Consequential, Untimely Death

by ouroborosnakes



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Confessions, M/M, Panic Attacks, Vulnerability, discusses PTSD and past CSA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25082872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ouroborosnakes/pseuds/ouroborosnakes
Summary: “Have you ever fallen in love with the wrong person?” The question arises so abruptly Snake doesn’t immediately register it came from Otacon, back turned to him.“What?”“Maybe not the wrongperson, per se, but someone you knew you shouldn’t?”“Where did this come from?”“Just… thinking,” he concludes after a pause longer than necessary.
Relationships: Otacon/Solid Snake
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40





	Love, And Its Consequential, Untimely Death

**Author's Note:**

> background character(s) created for the sake of a fabricated backstory for snake; mentions of previous sexual abuse on otacon's half (per canon-typical content), though none of it is explicit. 
> 
> i don't know if i'm any good at angst, but i wanted to do something new, so thank you for giving this a shot!

“Have you ever fallen in love with the wrong person?” The question arises so abruptly Snake doesn’t immediately register it came from Otacon, back turned to him.

“What?”

“Maybe not the wrong _person_ , per se, but someone you knew you shouldn’t?”

“Where did this come from?”

“Just… thinking,” he concludes after a pause longer than necessary.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” Snake half-jokes, dryly, anticipating the answer. It had never been addressed but Snake sensed - hoped - there was something more to the way Otacon’s gaze would sometimes linger, even after Snake had turned his attention elsewhere. What feels like years pass before Otacon speaks again.

“No,” is all he says, voice flat. Knowing that as a sign he wanted the conversation to end at that, Snake returns to the book he’d been reading and listens to the eventual tapping of Otacon’s keyboard. 

“I have,” Snake answers after more than ten minutes had passed following their brief interaction; that also ends abruptly, though he sees Otacon’s shoulders relax slightly. 

“Okay,” he whispers quietly to no one in particular; not meant for Snake to hear but still audible in the stillness of the empty room.

* * *

Trying to figure out what the _hell_ Otacon meant, Snake notices they act no differently around each other - not even in the anxious way Otacon sometimes purposely avoids eye contact when he gets stressed over something he isn’t ready to talk about. That conversation apparently never happened, Otacon continuing with his naturally unnatural rotation of a work-sleep schedule and Snake tried to leave it be.

In the time he and Otacon had spent together prior to forming Philanthropy and everything they had experienced consequently, they never spoke much of their pasts - nothing of immediate importance, anyways. Informing each other of things such as medical history and fighting experience (or the lack thereof) were more relevant than the minute details about prior relationships of any nature. Snake knew of Sniper Wolf and Otacon of Meryl, but neither pried for the extent or details, primarily just by name. Snake never mentioned the fact that all of his relationships with women never lasted longer than a few days, if even that. They typically followed the pattern of saving the damsel in distress per the mission, her development of an infatuation for her hero until she expresses an inevitable lack of empathy following her discovery of the true nature of Solid Snake, and then the rightful abandonment, so to speak.

Otacon never became that close - never needed nor wanted to truly _know_ Snake like the girls did, despite following the same type of outline. No, their relationship never budded in that intimate way any of the others had and thankfully, in turn, never truly seemed bothered about his violent upbringing nor the PTSD that came with it. Of course, Otacon has his own demons, though something they also never deemed necessary to be addressed in full. At the end of the day they were simply two men with sturdy walls built, respecting one another's unspoken boundaries and they were content that way.

Due to that respect of privacy, Snake had never considered mentioning the fact that most of his previous relationships had been with other men, though they were much more brief; frequent beddings with fellow soldiers, sometimes only lasting for a few fleeting hours as the depravity of another human’s intimate touch drove them together in a single bunk, resuming their position as peers in the morning.

Even now, during the times when the only available housing included a single bed, there was nothing remarkable to write home about. Accidentally spooning was used to tease each other; morning wood alluded to for the sake of a joke, though it was a natural reaction to laying in bed with another warm body - nothing more than human biology. On occasion, however, there was the brief, accidental touch that lingered a second too long, innocent in nature.

Watching Otacon scribble in a notebook - as he had been nagged into getting away from his computers by a concerned Snake but still restlessly sought something to do - Snake couldn’t help but recall their conversation. It _had_ happened, right? That it wasn’t some fantasy about Otacon returning his feelings in a tongue-in-cheek kind of way because he was easily embarrassed about genuinely being vulnerable and Snake didn’t want to make it awkward by boldly admitting he had politely been harboring his own feelings to save any awkward tension and - worst case scenario - the disbanding of their organization.

“Something wrong?” Otacon asks, having rolled onto his back on the floor, stretching out his poor posture. The hardwood wasn’t impeccably clean to the point Snake would imagine _laying_ on it, though he did use it for exercising. “Snake?”

“No, just thinking.” Making a brief ‘mm’ noise in his throat, Otacon squeezes his eyes and yawns, simultaneously arching his back, baggy t-shirt lifting to expose his stomach and part of his ribcage, jutting out when his stomach deflates. Returning to laying flat on his back, Otacon seemingly didn’t _mind_ his shirt bunching up, folding his hands on his chest and closing his eyes, feeling the cold floor against his newly exposed skin with a small, content smile on his lips.

Vulnerable, open. Scandalous. Tempting. Easily devourable. 

Snake turns and busies himself with straightening up the small kitchen space. Was that intentional? If it weren’t and was purely on accident, Otacon would’ve pulled his shirt back down and maybe lifted it after Snake wasn’t watching, but no, Otacon had put on a show, just innocent enough it could be nothing and Snake was overthinking. Regardless of the reason behind it, it successfully did something to Snake he wasn’t ready to admit. In the instance of these little, insignificant occurrences that he couldn’t decipher if Otacon was being flirty or just incidentally cute by nature, Snake always averted his attention and never commented - the professional, adult thing to do, not like a hormonal teenager getting hard at any action that _may_ have a sexual intent. 

The sudden memory of one specific soldier came to mind - the name of who he couldn’t remember aside from Guppy, because it was humorous amongst the barracks and commonly mocked, despite the fact he was an honest to God sweet young man - that was one of Snake’s longer-lasting relationships. There was nothing verbally official but they frequented each other enough to form something special Snake never developed with any other fling. One morning Guppy and Snake, after getting caught sneaking around the night before, had to report before the crack of dawn for their punishment drills, but managed to rendezvous before then, slightly sluggish with lack of sleep. As they sat against the trunk of a tree in each other's arms, it was the first time Snake had so honestly been told _I love you_ by someone that he teared up, naïve to what love was when he felt nothing but pain and rage, dulled numb, as he had been trained.

Despite how emotionally naked he felt in the scarred arms that held him, he couldn’t say it back. The words never truly formed and what became of it stayed deep in his stomach, scared to actually admit how he felt because he knew nothing was safe. This was going to be temporary no matter how much he never wanted to leave that tree, those arms, that mouth. 

They had been scolded for showing up late, though the drill sergeant had a peculiar look in his eyes; as if he knew something so raw had occurred and did not increase the punishment, rather letting them go early to shower - so long as they did it separately, and Snake saluted with tears leaving clear trails down his dust-covered cheeks, unable to vocalize how thankful he was.

“Snake?” Otacon asks quietly, tentatively. He hesitates on touching, then decides to carefully ghost his fingers over Snake’s forearm, just lightly tickling the hair there, patchy amongst scars. On reflex Snake grabs his wrist and yanks it up, though Otacon’s height advantage thankfully does not injure his shoulder, despite the bruises he knew would form on his wrist. He knew that, had anticipated this reaction and tried not to be startled or show pain.

“Snake,” he repeats louder, with more force, control. “Snake, can you hear me?”

Blinking the tears out of his eyes and down his cheeks, he looks at Otacon - through him, rather than at him - and releases his hand.

“Are you okay?” Resuming a hushed tone, Otacon subtly rubs at his wrist while trying to make eye contact, Snake’s eyes not quite grasping Otacon speaking to him. 

Eyes suddenly locking on with an almost dangerous intent, like having spot his target, Snake grabs both of Otacon’s wrists and twists them behind his back with one hand, other hand roughly but with an amount of hesitance it’s almost awkward and smashes their lips together; uncoordinated, sloppy, desperate. Unable to do much else Otacon lets him, reciprocating enough to try to tell Snake it’s okay, he’s okay.

Pulling up for a frantic breath, Otacon breaks his hands free as Snake’s grip gives way and holds his head steady, patient. With a few labored, panicked breaths, Snake closes eyes, more tears falling and listens to Otacon’s breathing, attempting to match but going off rhythm with hics and hitches of breath.

“Can I touch you?” Otacon asks, Snake nodding after blinking more stray tears. Pulling him in, his wet cheeks press against Otacon’s shirt, creating uneven damp spots. With one hand holding the back of his neck, his other rubs small circles against Snake’s spine, whispering quiet shushing sounds with the occasional “it’s okay” in between. After a few more shaky inhales, Snake finally stills, then lazily wraps his arms around Otacon’s waist, nuzzling his face onto the dry side of his shirt. 

“Sorry,” Snake mumbles, Otacon continuing his whispers and gentle touches. 

“C’mon,” he finally says, still holding onto Snake and taking a half step backwards, encouraging the other to follow - he does, clumsily, and they reach Otacon’s room, being the closest to the kitchen. While it’s not the tidiest floor, the bed is clean and when they approach it does he untangle their arms, Snake’s expression immediately looking like he’s going to start crying again, as if betrayed somehow. Climbing onto the mattress on his knees, the combined weight with Snake makes the box spring creak noisily. Shuffling for extra pillows he’d thrown on the floor, Otacon quietly helps Snake out of his jeans to be more comfortable, he himself deciding not to undress if more tears were going to dampen his shirt, also having not changed out of his pajamas from the night before. Snake doesn’t seem to mind, just lays under the comforter and waits, patiently, for Otacon to do something. Laying beside him, Snake makes vague, wordless hand gestures for Otacon to get under the blanket as well, who lets out a small chuckle beneath his breath before doing so, pulling Snake back into his chest, strong arms wrapping around his middle and brings them closer, safer together. 

“He died,” are the first words that come out of Snake’s mouth after silently laying together for God knows how long.

“Who died, Snake?” Having never stopped rubbing his back despite how tired his arm got, Otacon speaks against Snake’s forehead.

“Dept Guppy. Fellow recruit at FOXHOUND. First guy I ever fell in love with. Never got to tell him because I was scared. Got awkward because he thought it was unrequited but we never stopped seeing each other. Every time he said it I knew he meant it but he eventually stopped saying it when I couldn’t.” Snake inhales desperately, as if he was unable to breathe, then takes some time to collect himself. “I always told myself I loved him, too. Tried to show it in ways other than verbal. Every time I thought about saying it I couldn’t, and after he stopped it didn’t seem like it mattered if it was said or not because we both knew it.” Inhaling with less frantic breaths, Snake stops his story, breath hot against Otacon’s chest through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“And he died?” Snake nods.

“I really thought about saying it at that time. It felt right. I wanted him to know. I meant to tell him before and I promised myself I would when he got back. He and a bunch of others went on a mission out of the country. I didn’t know any other details but... he didn’t come back. What I heard from those who did return was he got captured and torture; he was killed on the field; another said he died on the way back from blood loss due to multiple gunshot wounds; someone else said it was because a grenade blew off his limbs and they couldn’t get help in time. I was angry. Sad. Thought there was some funny business because of the inconsistent stories. Beat the shit out of the next guy who took his bed. If I wasn’t stopped I might’ve killed him." Inhaling shakily, he continues. "Almost got kicked out of FOXHOUND but I think some officers knew how hard it hit me in one way or another and I got probation indefinitely. ‘Til, you know. They sent me out as the rookie they saw me as but there was so much unbridled resentment pending that I missed being out. Felt good, rewarding somehow. Revengeful.” A nasally sniffle. “It took years but I later realized when you’re on the field, it’s hard to keep track of everything that's happening, but the idea of not knowing how he died was far more sickening for me to stomach. I eventually learned how to lock it away, like everything else.”

“What made you think of him?”

“I guess,” Snake begins, then swallows, exhales slowly and starts over. “I wouldn’t say it’s love, but you are important to me and I don’t want to lose you. I want to protect you and know you’re safe, know you’re _alive_." Admitting these things aloud makes Snake feel as if his skin is being peeled, everything about him open to dissect and mutilate. He chokes on his own anxieties and hides his face against Otacon, who doesn’t respond immediately, just continues stroking.

“I know.” Kissing at Snake’s hairline softly enough he almost doesn’t catch it, Otacon nudges at Snake’s shoulder, pulling him to eye level, pressing their foreheads together. “I don’t really know what to say,” he confesses, wiping the lingering moisture on Snake’s cheeks. “Thank you for telling me this. I’m sorry for what happened, and… I’m proud of you for handling that experience and not letting it weigh you down forever. It’s hard but…” Sentence trailing off after not really sure what the right words of comfort are, Otacon slides his hand behind Snake’s ear and brings his face up, closer. “Would kissing make you feel better?” He whispers, then adds “I don’t mind, if it will help. I want to help you.” With a small nod, Otacon closes the distance, mindful of how Snake reacts. It takes him time to set his remorse aside and returns the kiss, much smoother than before.

Slightly breathless, Snake pulls back and presses their foreheads together again. 

“Thank you,” he mumbles, rubbing his thumb in wide arches against Otacon’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for the abruptness of everything.” Not finding the need to say anything else, Otacon closes his eyes and feels the two of them breathe against each other. 

“Do you want to stay here?” Opening his eyes, Snake looks at Otacon and nods. “I’m going to grab a couple things. Do you need anything?”

“Bathroom,” he grumbles, waiting until Otacon lets out a sweet, warm laugh and stands before he climbs out of the bed himself.

They coincidentally meet back in the kitchen, Otacon briefly warming up leftovers and grabbing some painkillers for Snake’s inevitable headache that follows crying.

“How are you feeling?” Shrugging instead of replying, Otacon takes that as a solid answer and slowly stretches his hand across the table, laying it on top of Snake’s. “Is there anything else you need?” Snake shakes his head. “It’s kind of early to go to bed. I’ll hold you however long you want, or we can sleep now. I don’t have anything else on my agenda.” With a goofy, slightly crooked smile that pushes his glasses up at the stretch of his cheeks does Snake return his expression, smile tired but thankful.

“I love you,” he whispers, turning his hand over and curling his fingers into Otacon’s palm, who returns the notion. “I don’t know the extent or what exactly that in itself entails, but I wanted you to know. Want to be able to say it and not feel ashamed or vulnerable.” Pausing and furrowing his eyebrows, Snake opens his mouth, closes it and includes “if that’s okay with you, of course. I don’t want to force you into something because you pity me after I had… whatever that was.”

“You’re not forcing me into anything,” Otacon assures him; “admittedly, this isn’t how I expected anything to go, but it feels... right. I’m glad to be here and be the person you need with you. And you’re welcome to kiss me if it helps ground you - or any time, really,” he concluded with a small smile, vaguely flirtatious but Snake can’t bother with the potential implications and returns the smile, comforting and warm. 

Leaving their empty dishes out, they climb back into Otacon’s bed after changing into something a little more clean and comfortable, Otacon spooning Snake and pressing the occasional, delicate kiss to the back of his head while Snake fiddles with Otacon’s hands, a small gesture that reminds him he’s alive, he’s here, laying in bed with his partner - however that term has since been redefined - who is alive and happy to be sharing this space, even after witnessing something so traumatic and _raw_ ; something that would make any other person run from him but Otacon- Otacon holds him close in a comforting way, even after he’s calmed. _Love_ is too strong of a word, but the trust he now has in Otacon is indescribable and for a moment Snake thinks this may actually last and become something new and exciting for someone so broken and poorly reconstructed as he is.

Without realizing it his eyes tear up again, feeling refreshed, new, and whether or not Otacon notices does not change the fact his quiet words and warm body never stop, never intend to stop; never plans to leave this bed, leave Snake’s side. 

Letting his eyes close, a few loose tears drip from his eyes and he doesn’t feel ashamed to be vulnerable - Snake feels proud to open himself and not be abandoned the moment he lets his guard down. Otacon buries his nose against the back of Snake’s neck, carefree little kisses ghosting along his spine and Snake lets out a content exhale, holding Otacon’s hand in his and squeezing, knowing the squeeze returned feels the same way, whatever they decide to call it.

"I love you," mouthing the words against Snake's skin, Otacon feels his chest expand beneath him with a breath and shudders on the exhale, pleasantly overwhelmed. "Maybe that's the wrong word, but that's the word I think fits best." Humming, Otacon tucks his chin into the crook of Snake's neck.

" _Philia_ ," he states after a short pause. "One of the Greek's definitions of love."

"That sounds nice," Snake agrees, hand sweaty where he's got it wrapped around Otacon's. "Platonic, right?"

"Yeah." And with that, Otacon lets his eyes close, feeling Snake's breathing slowly even out before falling asleep.

* * *

Otacon wakes alone in bed, unsurprisingly alone. It was to be expected - despite what had occurred yesterday, he didn't view Snake as the type to immediately forgive his past and melt into a mold of someone he wasn't, for the sake of a partnership, for the sake of Otacon. Checking his phone, Otacon blinks to make out the time and sees it's barely three in the morning. Sliding on his glasses and making his way out of his bedroom, he catches a glimpse of Snake, sitting at the table with a cup of coffee.

"Couldn't sleep?" Otacon asks, pulling out the chair opposing him. 

“Nightmare,” Snake explains, “didn’t want to wake you.”

“I’m a heavy sleeper,” he jokes, glancing over to see the coffee pot drained. Going to start a fresh patch, he notices the lack of stench from cigarettes, momentarily catching him off guard. Perhaps that was why he’d gone through so much coffee. “Do you need anything?”

“No.” Voice heavy with exhaustion and unease, Snake takes another sip from his mug, slow, deliberately avoiding talking.

“Are things going to be awkward between us now?” Pouring water into the tank and pressing the brew button, Otacon turns and watches Snake for a moment. “I don’t want them to be.”

“That was just… a lot to process.” 

“I know. But do you feel any better?”

“It wasn’t really meant to happen,” Snake explains, licking his bottom lip somewhat nervously. “It’s been a long time since I’d thought about that, about him. Years of repression hit all at once. I was vulnerable. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“What?” Otacon inquires, voice concluding with a lilt, opening the cupboard for a mug. “The great Solid Snake has _emotions_?” 

“Otacon,” his voice teeters with warning, irritability, but there is the faintest ease in his frown.

“Oh man, I had no idea! I didn’t know you were able to cry - what a shock! It appears you’re human, after all. I don’t mean to tarnish your reputation; I’m sure all the fans of wanted terrorist Solid Snake are disappointed to learn that you, like everyone else, experience emotions. You cry, you mourn. That doesn’t make you any lesser of a person for hiding it until your dam breaks. And so what? You did it in the comfort of one of the nicest apartments we’ve managed in a while and in the arms of your partner in crime, the equally wanted and but _significantly_ much more handsome, Otacon.” Pouring himself a cup and sitting back down, Otacon is pleased to see Snake is trying his best not to smile at the teasing, despite how he may still feel.

“If you really, honest to God, want to forget it, we will. Nothing has to become of this, it can just be a brief moment of vulnerability that we can put aside, but I want you to know I will be here for those moments. And… I hope you’d do the same for me.” Taking a sip and hissing at the temperature, Otacon looks across the table and through the steam. “I was joking about all that, by the way. I think it’s a good thing you were able to let your guard down because no one can healthily keep things bottled up, regardless of how much training you go through to suppress all of that. Thank you for letting me see that side, it really meant a lot and I think it put a lot of trust into this relationship, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yeah,” Snake agrees, mumbled into his mug. “Still hard to process that it happened with someone who wants to stay, and not by myself surrounded by empty bottles.” 

“Then let me be there for you. That’s part of the job, isn’t it?” Blowing lightly against the liquid, Otacon sips, withholding a hiss of pain. “And I think…” biting on his bottom lip in thought, Snake watches, patiently. “This should be mutual, shouldn’t it?”

“How do you mean?” Otacon inhales before speaking again, readying himself.

“To show my trust in you, I’m going to tell you something personal.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” Setting his cup down, Otacon looks into Snake’s eyes. “If you’ll let me. You opened up to me, I think it’s only fair to open up to you.” As much as Snake wanted to argue it happened on accident, it was something he’d never told anyone outside of FOXHOUND at that time and he didn’t want to make Otacon feel like he was obligated to confine something so deeply personal when everything else about his understanding of Otacon was essentially surface-level. 

Instead, Snake nods slowly, motioning he was going to refill his mug before Otacon could tell his story. When he returns, his glasses are on the table and the mug is held so firmly in Otacon’s hand, as if his life depended on it. 

“The first person to tell me she loved me said it with such venom and deception I had to believe her. I had no choice.” He swallows, hard. “No, that’s not quite it. I didn’t _have_ to believe her, I wanted to. Tricked myself into believing. I desperately wanted to think she truly loved me and wasn’t using me, but every time she said it I felt like a piece of me was breaking off. The pieces got bigger when she made me start saying it back, and at some point things became a blur. Did I love her? Did she love me? Was love ever present? By the time my metaphorical body had disappeared I found myself mindlessly being wrapped around her finger, but... I didn’t mind, I really didn’t. It felt nice to be used. To tell someone you love them, to hear it back, to sleep at night under the guise everything was okay, normal, healthy. We were in love, and that’s what love was.” Taking a long, burning sip, Otacon tucks his head down, purposefully not letting Snake see his expression. 

“But I was wrong. I didn’t know what love was. I knew deep down it was wrong, but the feeling of being wanted clouded any rational thoughts. At the time, when I would think about _why_ it was bad, I blamed myself. After it stopped, I blamed myself for being the reason things turned out the way they did. To this day, though I know it’s her fault, I can’t find it in me to hate her. I mean, how could I? She was my mother.” With trembling hands Otacon sets the mug down and covers his face, body wracking with a heavy inhale. Snake clenches his jaw hard, muscles protruding, but denies himself of the urge to reach out, touch Otacon. “ _I was 15_ ,” he mumbles into his hands, shoulders lurching forward with a muffled sob. 

Running over the possible outcomes, Snake debates if consoling Otacon would make things better or worse, but before he decides to take action Otacon sniffles, removes his hands and takes a slow sip, keeping his head down. 

“Could you get me a tissue?” He asks quietly, pulling his sleeve over his fist and wipes at his eyes. Pushing his chair out hastily enough it screeches against the floor, Snake returns with the decorative box of tissues left by the former tenant, which makes Otacon laugh at the thud it makes when Snake gets it on the table and mumbles his thanks.

"Can I touch you?" Snake asks, hovering, awaiting an answer. After blowing his nose and collecting himself somewhat, Otacon nods, slowly, as if his head was weighted down and unable to move. Pulling his chair over, Snake puts his arm across the frail shoulders and tucks Otacon against his chest, resting his cheek onto the mop of hair. It wasn't the same as Otacon held him, somewhat awkward and uncomfortable, but neither complained.

The tears Snake had shed were few, sporadic, and slipped quietly down his cheeks; Otacon's tears came in loud, heaving sobs, smothered against Snake's form, refusing to show his face as the wall he had built didn't crack, but crashed down, filling his lungs with dust and bitterness. On occasion he would pull away to blow his nose, politely trying not to get snot on Snake's chest, the latter respectfully looking away, as he took every action to avoid eye contact. 

After a long, heartbreaking moment of silence, Otacon speaks, having drug his head closer onto Snake's abdomen, holding him with his lanky arms.

"Snake. Can you say something? Anything."

"The coffee's cold," comes the immediate, blunt response, catching Otacon completely off guard. Prying himself off and sitting up with a look of such disbelief, he can't help but laugh.

" _The coffee's cold_?" He repeats, incredulously. " _That's_ what you have to say? Those are your words of comfort?"

"You said anything," Snake shoots back, a smirk pulling his lips. 

"I'll have to add to your online biography you've got a shitty sense of humor," he mumbles, wiping at his raw eyes and picking his glasses back up before deciding to keep them off. "Thank you. I needed that."

"I'm sorry I'm not good at consoling."

"You let me cry into your chest at three in the morning, never pushed me away or was disgusted by what I had said. And, despite that, made a dumb joke to lighten the mood." He smiles, sweet and sad. "That was all I needed."

"Good." Snake clears his throat and ignores the partially dry wet spot on his torso. "I'm sorry that happened." In response, Otacon makes a vague head motion that Snake knew meant _thank you, I don't want to talk about it anymore_. "Do you want me to make more coffee?" Letting out a small laugh, Otacon shakes his head, more confident in his response. 

"No, I think we should go to bed. I feel like years of internalizing has lifted from my shoulders and now I could sleep for a week." Looking down to the table, Otacon's fingers twitch, Snake slowly walking his hand over to take hold of his digits, which meet his touch. "And I know that's not how trauma works - it doesn't go away because you cry it out in a kitchen. That's never worked, and I think you can agree." Nodding, Snake's grip tightens slightly.

"But, now that it's out there, it has been acknowledged. It's been spoken, it's been heard, and I think that's at least a little better than pretending it never occurred and hiding it for years, despite how hard it is to recall." Snake inhales and exhales slowly, letting his eyes close. "Thank you for telling me. We won't discuss it any further, but I'm glad you opened up." 

"Mm," Otacon mumbles, distracted, away, but his touch is warm and receptive. "Tired."

"Let's get you to bed." Pulling lightly at his arm, Otacon stands up, slumped over and Snake pulls him into a hug, breathing against him, gangly arms crossing over his back. "What was that word you used earlier?"

" _Philia_." 

"How is that used in a sentence? I _philia_ you?"

"That sounds lame," Otacon snorts, pressing a lazy kiss to Snake's hair. "Love is okay."

"I love you, Otacon. I'll carry your baggage as far as you need me to go."

"And I'll do the same. I love you too, Snake." Letting out an exhale much louder than Otacon expected, he smiles lazily, feeling as if his body held no weight; free, floating, warm. Snake's arms held him steady, firm, safe. "Sorry if the kissing thing was, uh, a little sudden."

"I started it first," he corrects, "and I'm sorry I did. Forgot where I was for a second. That was just my first thought."

"Better than attacking me, I guess." At the mention, Snake pulls from their embrace and examines Otacon's wrist, who lets him study with his gaze sheepishly turned away. "This isn't your fault," he says before Snake can apologize. "I touched you when you were out of it and that was your natural response. At least nothing's broken." Snake scowls briefly before letting his face relax. This relationship was about honesty and forgiveness; apologizing for something Otacon has already forgiven him for makes the action redundant. Instead, he rubs over the bruises with the pads of his thumbs. 

"The last thing I want to do is pressure you into something," Snake begins, Otacon making a curious, quizzical noise. "But the kissing thing was nice. So long as it's mutual, of course. It's calming." With an abrupt stern expression, Otacon sticks out his pinky finger, offering it to Snake, who stares for a moment before hooking his own pinky around it.

"Everything that occurred today will remain between us." They shake, once. "It is to not be brought up unless initiated and should remain out of mind. I do not want you to look at me and think about what happened because we are building a new future together, regardless of what's in the past, and I will do the same for you." Shaking again, their fingers curl, intertwined. 

"Now," keeping their fingers together, Otacon drops his hand, pulling Snake's with him. "I'm tired." Nudging just slightly, Snake takes the hint to follow, though he stops in Otacon's doorway.

"Good night," he says, Otacon stopping, eyebrows knitted together before raising in understanding and mouthing _oh_. "Did you want to sleep together?" Snake suggests, Otacon nodding firmly. 

"If you want."

"Let me change first." Trying to fix the bedding up again, Otacon is waiting when Snake returns, having put on a clean shirt and slipped under the covers, immediately relaxing. The two lay flat on their backs, ceiling fan rotating in slow, mesmerizing circles, the sun teasing to rise, though neither of them address it.

"You know," Otacon begins suddenly, looking over at Snake from the corner of his eye. "Something I liked about you was that you never asked about any of that. Not that it's up there on icebreakers, but you never seemed curious enough to ask. I thought you hated me the first couple weeks we started working together due to lack of interest of my personal life until I realized it wasn't that you didn't care - it just didn't matter to you. From the moment we formed Philanthropy, everything irrelevant in my past meant nothing, and it was nice to suspend that disbelief and live like it never happened. Even when I talked about it at my own discretion - though not the way I expected it to occur - It made me feel.. safe. Strong, in a way. Yeah, it still happened, it still hurts and it's still shitty, but you didn't judge me. You let me get snot all over your shirt and never let go." Breathing out his nostrils, he turns to face Snake. "Thank you."

"God," Snake laughs, brief and light; "I was worried _you_ didn't care because you never asked about me and I just respected that boundary. Every other type of bond I formed was ended as soon as I exhibited any sort of un-heroic action, and heroes _especially_ don't cry. Never felt the need to keep up that facade around you, but I didn't know it came off as standoffish. Not much of a people person."

"I've noticed. Neither am I, but I guess we should be at least familiar with each other, huh? Can't be partners without trust and with trust comes communication, despite how hard it is to talk." 

"You seemed... easier to speak about what happened."

"Years of therapy. Had to relive it for every new person to the point I stopped trying because it wasn't helping."

"I had never told anyone about Guppy. I think others knew through rumors or my reckless actions but that stayed between us and I figured it would until I died. I started using sex as a coping mechanism for everything and when the baggage got too heavy for human interaction, it was right to alcohol." 

"I've told people about Julie and I would get treated like I was damaged goods, something too dirty to touch, or someone easily malleable, but generally I was dropped if I showed vulnerability." Fidgeting with his fingers, he takes a few, quiet breaths before continuing. "The feeling of people worrying every touch may be non-consensual and inherently harmful to the point they avoided me felt like I truly was something that would permanently be unappealing. For a while, I also used sex to cope in order to unassociate touches with her touches, but that wasn't really good for me, either, but sometimes I worry I still accidentally exhibit those kind of behaviors, you know?" 

Shuffling up on his elbows, Snake looks at Otacon, studying his face intently.

"Otacon," he begins, carefully treading around the question, "have you been flirting with me?"

"Like, _now_?" 

"No. Sometimes there are some things you do that I can't differentiate between being flirty or just-" he stops, then swallows, "or just cute." Snorting, Hal waves that away as a silent apology for accidentally laughing.

"That depends. What do you make of it?" Blinking, Snake lays back down and mulls over his words.

"I think it's time we go to bed." Stated with a firm, end-of-discussion tone, Otacon nods with a smirk at his lips, then turns on his side.

"G'night."

"Goodnight." A few minutes pass, Otacon partially drifting asleep when Snake inches in behind him, not quite spooning but enough to consider it cuddling. "Goodnight," he repeats with a yawn and a muttered _love you_.

**Author's Note:**

> the title is kind of edgy but i'll have you know the google doc i typed most of this out on on my phone is called "Wuv,,, twue wuv"
> 
> pbbpbthbp thank you for reading sorry i keep posting shit. i also realized after publishing i never got back to any of the things mentioned at the beginning of the fic. lmao. comments appreciated ✌️


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